


Compatible Disasters

by Ashling



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: F/M, I love all these characters so much, M/M, Multi, Other, This is also a romcom, VENOM IS A ROMCOM, a healthy balance between wild escapades and talking about feelings, and like a mystery basically except for 'why murder?' the question is 'why feelings?', they're all bi because I said so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: This is what happens when you don't fucking communicate: a hurt head and a lost symbiote.Amidst all the emotional mess, Eddie gets another corporation-army on his heels. On the bright side, Venom's still bulletproof and hungry, Anne's always ready to fight, and Dan has read several books that he thinks are quite relevant.In just twenty-four hours: The most succulent roast of 2018, hands down. A runaway cat. The extremely awkward thing hanging up near the mugs. A Walmart. The significant benefits of knowing how to do a fireman's carry. And heart, a whole lot of heart.(Basically a romcom mystery, except for 'why murder?' the question is 'why feelings?')





	1. a massive roast, a new outfit, a runaway cat, and a fucktacular disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herequeerandreadytofight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herequeerandreadytofight/gifts), [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).



> for herequeerandreadytofight, because I wouldn't have seen this movie without her; because she drives me to be better, funnier, and sweeter; and because I hope this fic is just as much a delight as she is.
> 
> for Unforgotten, because I saw your Yuletide prompt and I was going to treat but then it all got away from me and now it's a full fic and I'm too impatient to wait for December. I'm sorry, and also I'm not sorry at all!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Why can’t we have it back?** Venom says, and this time it’s not a tantrum, it’s not rage, it’s almost plaintive. A real question.

_How do you feel about roasts?_

**HER!** Venom rumbles.

“I know who it is,” Eddie mutters. He looks around quickly to see if anyone noticed him talking to himself, but it’s morning at the office, a quiet research day, and only his assistant producer Rosie is there. Eddie peers back down at his phone and starts to type.

_love the concept but I hate all the ads on the comedy central website so neutral I guess? the kanye one was good but I feel like I get roasted everyday by mrs Chen free of charge you know what I mean_

Her answer is immediate: _As in food, Eddie._

_oh right. right yea could go for that anytime why are you hungry?_

Eddie takes another look around, surreptitiously scouting the exits. There’s no way he can make it out without Rosie noticing, but if he just heads for the men’s bathroom and then turns sharply and goes for the stairs, the likelihood she’ll run him down is pretty low. And if she does...he casts about for an excuse. Would the truth do it? Hypothetically: “Please don’t tell Jasper that I’m taking two lunch breaks in one day. My ex hasn’t texted me in four days and I’m starting to worry.”

Yeah, the truth’s not great.

_Dan and I have been meaning to have you over for dinner sometime._

_sure yeah! anything for your cooking_

_Dan’s making it. It’s his day off. And I know I’m a terrible cook, but thanks._

_nah, don’t sell yourself short_

Anne doesn’t immediately reply. Eddie leans back in his chair and pretends to scan the scientific journal open in front of him, which would probably work better if said journal wasn’t upside down. The wait is excruciating, is the thing, and Venom’s not helping by making what can only be described as a grumble-drone, continual and infuriating and—

“Shut up,” Eddie hisses.

 **It is what you were thinking!** Venom protests.

“I was thinking _hnnnnnnngh_?”

**Yes!**

There’s no dignified answer to that, and besides, Eddie has noticed that lately Venom’s been more in tune with Eddie’s feelings than ever, so there is a fair chance that, objectively speaking, he had indeed been thinking _hnnnnnnngh._

Finally Anne replies: _How does a dinner party at seven sound?_

Eddie types out _good_ and then waits, finger hovering over the send button. He’s definitely the dumbest smart guy he knows, but he’s still smart enough to know that all the lowercase letters in the world aren’t enough to make up for the fact that he’s replying at the speed of light. The plan is to wait a good two minutes before he hits send, like he’s got a fucking calendar to check, but a little black tentacle shoots out of his fingertip and hits send for him.

“No slime in the workplace,” Eddie mutters between gritted teeth. “Jesus.”

**I do not understand why you keep saying that. You do not even believe in him.**

“‘s colloquial language. Swearing.”

**It is foolish.**

“Fuck off.”

Seemingly of its own volition, Eddie’s hand smacks his face at a stinging speed. He starts and swears.

Rosie looks up and casts him an warning glance, one eyebrow raised.

Eddie tries a half-hearted smile. “Late night, trying to stay awake.”

“While you’re trying to stay awake, I’m trying to work.”

“Right, sorry.”

The main advantage to having stubble, besides not having to shave, is that it covers up a blush pretty well. Eddie doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because his phone vibrates.

_Great, see you then._

Eddie turns the scientific journal around so that it’s right side up, then bends over it and begins taking notes in earnest, smiling all the while. Venom makes a low rumbling sound, less like a growl and more like a motor, or maybe a purr.

It _is_ great.

  
  
  


 

As soon as he gets out of the office, Eddie makes a beeline to the corner store. Mrs. Chen is there, arguing with her new friend, Mrs. Kuan, about something important. Now, Eddie doesn’t know exactly what they’re arguing about, but by the gesticulations and the rapid Cantonese and the look on her face, the one that looks like she’s enjoying herself but also extremely close to getting actually angry, he knows not to interrupt. He waves hello and goes for the most familiar section of the store: the chocolate rack.

 **One for them, two for us,** Venom says gleefully. It’s been a minute since Eddie’s last human-food snack, and he’s getting to the point where everything Venom says is pure hunger.

“Yeah, all right.” Eddie wants to get on Venom’s good side in preparation for the night to go smoothly; he’d gladly go through a dozen boxes of chocolate for that. Not that he minds the eating. Usually, the problem is Mrs. Chen.

Sure enough, when he makes it to the cash register, Mrs. Kuan has subsided, is sitting on a stack of crates and smoking a massive cigar, which leaves Mrs. Chen perfectly free to scan the  with three big boxes of truffles and start in on him.

“Did you have another breakup, Eddie?” She manages to be demanding, derisive, and comforting all at once.

“What? No.” Eddie looks vaguely guilty, although to be fair, when he’s not delivering a prepared report to a camera, Eddie almost always looks vaguely guilty. “No, this is for a dinner party.”

“A dinner party for grownups, or a dinner party for skaters?”

“You have something against skaters, Mrs. Chen?”

“You had mustard on your sandwich today, Eddie.”

He looks down at himself; there is not only a yellow stain on his hoodie, but also one stain on his runners.  

**Can we eat her?**

“No.” Eddie smile-grimaces. “I mean, yes, I did have mustard today. Good eyes, Mrs. Chen. You should be the next Sherlock Holmes, you know that?”

She ignores the compliment. “Is this a dinner party with people you like?”

“Of course. Why else would I be going?”

Mrs. Chen gives him a look. Suddenly, he remembers whining to her about the last work function he had to go to, the retirement party of an executive he hated, which was only last Thursday.

“I like these people a lot,” he says.

 **She is tasty,** Venom adds.

There are so many different ways Eddie could interpret this, most of them alarming, that he doesn’t have the time to process it before Mrs. Chen says, “Well, you need to change your clothes.”

“Noted, thanks.” Eddie offers her a smile and moves to go, fast. Venom rarely responds well when he’s ignored.

“And bring oranges! It’s good manners,” Mrs. Chen says.

“Hm?” Eddie pauses. Thing is, he hasn’t exactly been to a lot of grown-up dinner parties in his time. Parties, yes. But usually with some quantity of weed available, which he’s pretty sure disqualifies them for the category _grown-up_.

“A bag of oranges.”

**Oranges are disgusting. Chocolate is good.**

“Yeah,” Eddie says, although actually he could go for an orange any day of the week. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get me to buy more produce?”

“Everyone buy oranges,” rasps Mrs. Kuan, behind him. He turns to look at her. “Everyone mother tell them. Your mother not tell you?” She clucks in disapprobation.

**Can we eat her?**

“No!”

  
  
  


 

Eddie makes it out of the store with everyone alive, three boxes of chocolate, a bag of oranges, and a lovely little potted orchid for good measure. As soon as he gets home, without taking off his shoes or locking the door, he heads straight to the fridge, takes out the tater tots, and puts as many as will fit in the toaster oven. After that, it’s one and a half boxes’ worth of chocolate truffles.

“That good?” he says. Venom’s makes that purring sound again, so Eddie takes it that he’s satisfied, and putters around the apartment doing all the little things that need to be done.

Venom’s pretty quiet today, but he’s probably just digesting leftover organs, or something. They ate a whole four men last night, which is a full-on nine-course meal in Venom terms. The meal had been pharmatech assholes that faked the test results of their HIV test kit prototypes. Of course, they walked out of the courthouse with negligible fines, probation, and zero actual jail time. Eddie should probably feel worse about their deaths, or rather, less pleased with himself. But. One of them was wearing _boat shoes_ in the courthouse. As Eddie had covered the case for the Brock Report all fucking week, those shoes had been taunting him…

 **No,** Venom says.

“Mm?” Eddie breaks out of his thoughts, looks at himself in the mirror. As usual, the symbiote stares back. But when he looks down at his shirt, a regular checkered button-down, he can’t find fault with it.

**You cannot wear this. We are trying to make a good impression.**

“What’s wrong with it?” Eddie says, miffed.

**It is all wrong.**

“Look, I think I know human culture better than you do, all right? This is dinner party stuff. Classic.”

But Eddie’s curious, so he puts his hands in the air, a gesture that lets Venom know that Eddie gives into puppeting, which is what he’s come to think of the bit where his arms and legs start moving of their own accord.

 **Human style is not difficult,** Venom says as they begin rifling through Eddie’s admittedly sparse closet, selecting pieces, and dressing at a rather alarming speed. **Two of the main points are very easy to understand. They follow our values.**

“Mm?” Eddie observes his own fingers buttoning up a new shirt with a dexterity that he didn’t know he had. They had. Fuck’s sake, he doesn’t know anymore. “And what values are those?”

**Strength and edibility.**

“Is that so?” Eddie inspects himself in the mirror. “Do I look edible?”

 **We do. Extremely.** The smugness radiating from him is palpable.

The thing is, Eddie’s not so sure about this look. Black slacks and a black button-down isn’t feathers and sequins, exactly, but an all-black look is way more dramatic than he’s used to. There’s a reason Eddie prefers hoodies; he likes to blend in at every opportunity. But now there’s Venom. Venom is many things, never subtle.

Resigning himself to looking like the most basic salsa dancer of all time, Eddie tries to button up the shirt a little more. His hands freeze.

“What?”

**It is good for the throat to be exposed.**

Eddie doesn’t understand that, and isn’t sure he wants to. But: “Why?”

**Edible and strong!**

“Right…”

**Like someone should want to eat us, but they can’t, because we would eat them. But so edible, they will try it anyway.**

It occurs to Eddie that the thing in Venom’s voice is not smugness about dressing them better than Eddie, but rather some sort of...pride? That can’t be right. He squints at the mirror. It’s been a minute since anyone, himself included, was particularly proud of what he looked like.

“Well...good going, then,” he says.

Venom purrs. **Do not forget the chocolate.**

  
  
  
  


“Hey,” Eddie says to the closed door of Anne’s apartment. “Sorry I’m late.”

**We do not mind.**

“I wasn’t talking to you. I’m practicing.”

**We are not actually late, Eddie. Five minutes is not late. Humans do not care if there is not money involved.**

“You’ve been studying us, huh?”

**You are odd creatures.**

Eddie steels himself, clutching the bag of oranges a little tighter. (The orchids he left at home, considering flowers maybe too romantic; and the chocolates he ate in about three minutes on the Caltrain there, because Venom.)

“Look,” he says, “She’s really smart, right?”

**Yes.**

“And she knows you.”

 **Indeed.** Venom sounds a little testy.

“So if you could...maybe not talk quite so much...that would be good?”

Ominous silence. Then:

 **Very well,** Venom says. Eddie’s hand jerks forward and knocks on the door five times in rapid succession.

After an unbearable thirty seconds, it opens, revealing Dan, dressed in khakis and a checked button-down and a big rose-covered apron.

“Hi?” he says.

Eddie takes a beat to figure out if Anne’s there, sees that she’s not, and then remembers this is his cue to talk. “HeysorryI’mlate,” he offers.

“Late?” Dan repeats, his usually friendly face wrinkled in genuine confusion and concern. This  is concerning in and of itself: Dan’s usually so chill, he only ever looks like this when someone’s dying or sitting half-submerged in a lobster tank. (That someone always being Eddie, but hey. Extenuating circumstances.)

“Anne said you were making a roast?” Desperately, unreasonably, Eddie wishes that he’d buttoned up all the buttons on his shirt. As if that would help.

A flash of dismay crosses Dan’s face, but he manages to hide it pretty quickly. “Right! Come in, come in. She probably forgot to text me you were coming, that’s all. You know how she gets with work sometimes.” He stands aside.

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters uneasily. He hesitates, then goes in. What else is there to do?

“She said seven, today,” he adds, as Dan ushers him into the kitchen—which, aside from the various cooking implements everywhere, looks fucking immaculate—and hands him a beer from the fridge.

“Seven’s when we usually have dinner, yeah,” says Dan, sounding and looking extremely distracted, hovering outside the oven and peering into it.

“Can I, uh. Can I help?”

“Oh, no worries, man.” Dan straightens and leans against the wall, somehow managing to look even more awkward. “Hey, I saw the new and improved Brock Report yesterday. Great stuff. Really makes you think.”

That’s exactly what Eddie would say about his own show if he hadn’t watched it. “Yeah? You don’t think the bit on the City Council was too much?”

“No. I mean, yeah, there were a bunch of interviews, but you need all that to get a well-rounded picture of the situation, right? Otherwise there’s the danger of presenting a really flat picture of Democrat versus Republican when the sewage pollution issue is kind of outside that, more of like some kind of a...corporatist configuration, right?”

Dan is dead right, and definitely has watched the Brock Report in full. Eddie’s usual defense against any awkwardness is being far too tired to care, but that’s not available, since he and Venom worked out a decent diet and the Brock Report’s reboot put enough in his bank account to get an actual mattress instead of a secondhand foam futon.

They carry on a decent conversation about San Francisco politics for a little while, with Dan pausing every two minutes to peek into the oven, relaxing into the swing of it. Eddie has nearly convinced himself that Dan was only a little thrown by his sudden appearance, that the night will go smoothly and there’s nothing to worry about, when Dan suddenly says, “Actually, I have a confession to make.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when the front door opens and Anne breezes in.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, somehow taking off her coat, kissing Dan, touching Eddie’s shoulder, righting a slightly tilted picture frame, and unpacking a bottle of red wine in the same amount of time that it takes for Eddie to manage a “hi” in return. Fresh-cheeked from the walk and the evening breeze, she’s as intoxicating as ever.

“How are things?” Anne says, pausing to open the lid of one dish and taste testing one of the green beans inside.

“Dan?” says Eddie.

Dan smile-grimaces ruefully. “I forgot to preheat the oven.”

“Oh, honey,” says Anne sympathetically. Eddie recognizes that voice. It’s the same one she used to use when he got so invested in a story that he ended up accidentally pulling an all-nighter, and he looked up at her the morning after, rubbing his eyes like he was a kid again.

“Well, it’s not the end of the world,” she adds. “We can wait a little for our dinner.” She disappears into the pantry for a moment, then reappears with a can of Nutro Max cat food. “Hey, where’s Mr. Belvedere?”

Eddie’s wondering the exact same thing. Usually, at the faintest whiff of cat food, Mr. Belvedere’s on counters, chairs, laps, yowling as if begging for his life. But the lid’s off the can and Eddie can’t hear so much as a single meow.

Dan sighs. “It’s the third time this week.”

“Mr. Belvedere’s turning into a feline Houdini,” Anne explains. “We made a mistake of getting a cat leash and trying to see if he’d like Golden Gate Park. Turns out he loves it.”

“You two go ahead,” Dan says. “Hopefully this monster will be ready by the time you get home.”

Eddie’s stomach turns over at _monster,_ but then he realizes that Dan’s gesturing at the oven. By the time he looks back to Anne, she’s already got her coat back on and is reaching for a pair of helmets hanging side by side on the coatrack.

“Coming, Eddie?” she says.

Outside, she tosses one of the helmets at him and mounts what turns out to be her own motorcycle, parked three spots back.

“When did you get this?” he says, putting on his helmet as he admires the long sleek lines of it.

“Celebrating my first major case at the new firm. Come on.”

Which is how Eddie ends up going at a heady, illegal speed through the Sunset District, holding on to Anne’s waist at a decent height, eyes closed against the way her hair blows back in the wind and licks at his face. He thinks he can hear Venom purring low in his gut, and even that fits well. The sky’s on fire and Anne’s settled comfortably against him; the evening is turning out to be eminently worthy of a purr.

It’s not just that he’s missed Thursday nights—and he has, don’t get it wrong, he really, really fucking has—but also, he just misses her because he knows her down to a molecular level. She doesn’t like pink Starbursts, throws up from stress sometimes, and laughs with her mouth open when she’s drunk. He knows her, and it’s bone-deep good just to be around her; he can’t throw out the parts of him that still wake up and miss her in bed, but he can lock them away safely.

If he can work out a way to have her friendship back in his life, despite the secret kiss and Venom and all the rest of their complicated history, then he’ll be happy.

The purring intensifies. Eddie smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

They find Mr. Belvedere after a good twenty minutes of walking in the park; he’s curled up on the shiny golden shoulder of a statue, basking in the sunset. When Anne approaches him, he opens one eye, yawns aggressively at her, and closes the eye again. She takes this as acceptance enough, and transfers him to her own shoulder. Eddie struggles to buckle on the halter, having never done it before, but after a few minutes they’re set, strolling back the way they came, talking all the while.

They ramble through the status of their parents (Anne’s mom: remarried; dad: still annoying as hell but less of a dick than he used to be; Eddie’s mom: still complicated; Eddie’s dad: still dead), their social lives (Eddie usually enjoys making new work friends, but this time it’s a bit of a return, and a bit harder; Anne hates it, always), and their jobs (Eddie lays out the Boat Shoes Medi-evil case quickly; Anne lays out a worker’s comp case, leisurely).

By the time they get back to the motorcycle, they’re both laughing over the escapades of Billy Jung, a highly eccentric CEO that Anne got to witness in action.

“I didn’t even have to do anything!” Anne says. “I just tried to keep a straight face.”

Eddie straps on his helmet, subsiding to a chuckle. “The only time I’ve ever seen someone try to be their own lawyer is on Judge Judy.”

“Yeah, well, it was fucktacular.”

“Fucktacular. Where’d you learn that, Berkeley?”

“No, by the time I left Michigan, I was already fluent in the common fucknacular.”

“So precocious. When I was that age, all I could do was...fuck Dracula?” Eddie laughs. “Couldn’t find the rhyme, sorry.”

“Oracular?”

He points at her. “See, that’s why I write my scripts and you get paid the big bucks.”

“Big bucks in Ypsilanti, maybe. But you’re doing well for yourself, right?”

“Doing good,” Eddie says, and he means it.

Well and good aren’t the same word, which Anne is sharp enough to know, but she’s also sharp enough to know that to him, good is better than well. She smiles at him. “Good.”

It’s lovely, talking to her, but it’s also kind of weird talking on the sidewalk with the motorcycle helmet on, and now that the sun has nearly set, it’s chilly, too.

“If you hand over Mr. Belvedere and actually stick to the speed limit this time, I’m sure we can all get home in one piece,” he says.

“I know.” She doesn’t move to give him the cat, or to put on her own helmet.

“Annie?”

“Yeah,” she sighs.

He takes off his helmet. “What’s the problem?”

“I need some advice, and I can’t get it from Trish, and I can’t get it from CJ, because they’ll both tell me I’ve gone crazy. But I’m not sure how to tell you about it without sounding like I’m coming on to you. Or hurting your feelings.”

“My feelings are pretty tough,” Eddie lies.

She scratches the back of her neck.

“What about Dan?”

“Dan’s the person I need advice about.”

“Well, shoot.” Eddie tries to finger-gun at her, because he doesn’t know what else to do, but one of his hands is holding the helmet, so the execution of the gesture leaves something to be desired. Lightheartedness, probably.

“I’m fully aware this is going to sound crazy.”

“I’ve seen you seven feet tall and slimy. We’re past that.”

“Right.” Mr. Belvedere meows, and she reaches up to pet him. “Dan has been planning this dinner for a few days now, and he’s been acting a little more stressed than usual lately…”

“I noticed. And?”

“This is gonna—”

“I know.”

Anne looks at the pavement, still stroking Mr. Belvedere slowly. “I think he was going to propose to me tonight.”

“Um,” says Eddie, because he has to say something, but he’s not got the words just yet. His chest is doing something weird but he’s choosing to ignore it. Then, because this is a pretty surefire way to buy himself some time to think: “How do you feel about that?”

Anne is dressed immaculately in coal grey cigarette pants and a leather jacket, with a purring cat on her shoulder and her hair in a smooth blonde curtain, the very picture of self-possession. She’s looking at the pavement. Her voice is very calm. “I’m fucking panicking,” she says.

“That’s understandable,” says Eddie, with feeling. Panicking is his forte. “Are you sure he’s going to propose, though? Fixing up a special dinner might not mean just that. Could mean he wants…”

They look at each other for a moment. Then it clicks. “Can’t be,” Anne says decisively. “Because we just did. Yesterday was Thursday.”

“Right.” Despite everything, he smiles.

“What?”

“You do like your routines.”

“Routine breeds habit, and habit is stronger than anything else,” Anne says, by rote. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure it’s a proposal. I found a ring box in his sock drawer three days ago and I was too chickenshit to open it.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

From the fixed way Anne stares at the concrete, Eddie knows she wishes she could be pacing, the way she does when she’s thinking through a hard case. He reaches for Mr. Belvedere, and Mr. Belvedere yowls disdainfully, but allows himself to be lifted.

“Thanks.” She does, actually, begin to pace on the sidewalk, there and then.

At the end of the day, Eddie’s a better sounding board for her, usually, then he is a fountain of solutions. “Do you want to marry him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Do you like him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes!” Anne seems to hear the defensiveness in her own voice, and stops in her tracks, speaks a little softer. “Not that I’ve said it.”

Eddie stares. “Why not?” Then he realizes how that sounds, and backpedals. “I mean—”

“No, I know what you mean. It’s not—It’s not the same, with him and I. I feel—” She starts pacing again. “You know, I once wrote a paper in fifth grade for social studies, and I failed the paper for starting a sentence with _I feel_.”

“Forget that.”

“I also spent the weekend after I got fired in CJ’s apartment, listening to her and Trish do nonstop rants about how men can’t be trusted. Which is the same experience as failing a paper, but blown up by a hundred.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m different now. And Dan is so good, I want to be like I used to be, but it’s not natural any more. I—you want to hear something stupid?”

“I want to hear anything you want to tell me.”

“I’ve never made him coffee. Not once, not ever. It’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid, but he’ll be sitting up in bed after a really late surgery and I’ll think about getting up and going to run the fucking Keurig and I’ll just think out of nowhere: _this is how it starts_.”

“Mm,” Eddie says. (Right, yeah. Anne was absolutely right. This fucking _hurts_.)

“And it’s not logical, and I know that,” she rushes on. “Because you and Dan are not the same people, and also, you’ve changed. It’s all completely irrelevant.”

**Ask them to marry you.**

Eddie flinches. He’d gotten so deep into this tangle of thorns that he’d forgotten about Venom entirely. “What?”

**We like them, we like their faces, we want to be in their lives, this is marriage. So marry them.**

Anne has gone still. She watches him like a hawk. “It’s all irrelevant,” she repeats, slowly, eyes fixed on his face.

“Can’t do that,” Eddie says as quietly as he can.

**Why not?**

“Do what?” Anne demands.

Oh shit. It’s not so much being stuck between a rock and a hard place as it is like getting his arms tied to one car and his legs tied to another, and the cars going at seventy miles an hour in opposite directions.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie manages. “I should go.”

 **No! We were close,** Venom hisses. A thunder of emotion rolls through Eddie, twice as harsh as before, and he nearly shakes with it, realizes Venom had been holding this back, somehow, and for a moment all his body can hold is his newfound disappointment and rage. What the _fuck._

“What’s happening?”

“I’m, ah—a headache.” He tries to hand over Mr. Belvedere, but Anne takes a step back.

 **We almost** —

Eddie puts the cat down. “I have to go.” He tries to turn around, and can’t.

**_No._ **

“Eddie?” Anne says, voice tight.

He looks at her, gone motionless and rigid in a way he’s never been before.

 **Why can’t we have it back?** Venom says, and this time it’s not a tantrum, it’s not rage, it’s almost plaintive. A real question.

“Humans don’t share,” Eddie says quietly, just as Anne reaches into her purse.

His head splits. The sound bores in through his ears like a drill and he can feel himself shaking, hear himself screaming, but floats away from it, mind shutting down.

  


 

 

 

When he wakes up, he’s on the ground, head hurting like hell, something pooling slow and sticky beneath. Overwhelmingly, he feels wrong, missing, empty. What happened? He tries to get up and the world spins.

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he whips around to see who it is. Anne, of course. He clutches at her sleeve, like she might have an answer.

“It’s all right,” she says. “Stay down.” Her voice is soothing, but that alone makes him panic all the worse. She should be panicking. The whole world should be panicking. He doesn’t know how to say it, lets her turns him over, touch his head. Her fingertips come away bloody. He doesn’t particularly care.

He’s still looking for something, and doesn’t know what until he sees Mr. Belvedere staring back at him, slitted eyes gone cloudy. He lurches towards the cat, but it turns and darts away into the park.

Suddenly, the emptiness makes far too much sense, and as Eddie slumps back, head spinning, he finds it hard to breathe.

What did he do?


	2. a promise, a taco truck, a blue thing, and a bunch of lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Belvedere is my cat,” she says decisively. “I’ll figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience! more to come

Inwardly cursing her slow reflexes, Anne puts the 4500 hertz pulse back in her purse and leans in to examine the gash in Eddie’s head. It’s not particularly long or deep, but it bleeds as badly as all head wounds do. She’s angry at Venom for whatever led to this and angry at herself for not anticipating Eddie’s fall, but she moves forward, now as always. 

Helping Eddie lean against the same lamppost he bashed his head on, she checks his left pocket. Sure enough, there’s still a ratty blue scarf tucked in deep. She presses it to his bloody head and he closes his eyes, grimaces.

“Hey.” Anne pats his cheek. “Keep your eyes open. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Eddie mutters.

“Of course it fucking matters. Jesus, you’re shivering.” She puts her hand to his forehead, finds nothing strange in the temperature. “Are you cold?”

“No. Maybe.” He tries to get up again, but she keeps him down with one hand on the shoulder. It’s too easy. It’s taking all her energy to keep her own fear at bay. 

“Eddie, just stay here for a minute.”

“Venom isn’t here.”

“I know. That’s the point. Better Mr. Belvedere than you. He’s more of an asshole than you are. He can take it better.”

Anne’s used to reproach, of course—she gets it in the courthouse on the daily, usually delivered by opposing lawyers that she minds no more than biting flies, sometimes delivered by genuinely impassioned witnesses who fix her with  _ you’re ruining my life  _ eyes. And she lets it pass through her.

But this is Eddie, and it’s the first time in years that he’s looked at her with reproach, and she fucking feels it. 

“Why would you do that?” he says. 

“You looked like you were being controlled.” Anne feels herself getting defensive, which she hates; she doesn’t feel this way when she’s merely being challenged. She only feels this way when she suspects she’s fucked up. 

The way Eddie looks away, though, says she might have hit on the truth. “I was fine,” he says, which is not the same as  _ I wasn’t being puppeted by a parasitic alien. _

“I know what you look like when you’re panicking, Eddie. And you didn’t try to explain it at all. When I see you afraid of something, what do you think is going to happen? I look for the danger and I deal with it.”

He swallows, and there’s the Eddie she knows; even bleeding, he want to see clear, wants to be fair, needs to be kind. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have come.”

“That’s not—Eddie, hey. Eyes open. You need to see a doctor.”

“No,” he mumbles.

“What?”

This time, when he opens his eyes, they’re clear. 

“Annie.” Shit, it’s been a while since he’s called her that, and now he clutches her leather jacket, leaning in, urgent. “I don’t need a doctor, I need  _ Venom _ . I can’t—I don’t know how else to say it. I need them. Okay? If they’re gone, I—”

_ “Okay,” _ Anne says at once. She doesn’t understand most of it, but she doesn’t have to. If he needs Venom, she’s going to fucking get Venom. “I’ll take care of it. Just let me think.”

For a moment, Eddie subsides against the lamppost, blood flow slowing against the blue scarf. Anne strokes the hair at his temple absently as she thinks it all through. Old habits die hard.  

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she finally says. She delivers the words the way she gives commands to paralegals at the firm when it’s 2am, they’re losing, and everyone’s dead on the inside. The tone works on Eddie; he seems to sit up a little, eyes attentive. “You’re going back to the apartment, where Dan can have a look at your head. If he says you need to go to a hospital, you’re fucking going. You’re no use to Venom or yourself if you’re hurt.”

“I don’t need a doctor. Venom will fix me.”

“Even if you stay, there’s no guarantee we’ll find Venom quickly and convince them to come back to you. I want your head fixed in the meantime. Besides, your absence is my bargaining chip. It’s how I’ll get them back.”

“How are you gonna find them?” is all Eddie says. He doesn’t question her ability to convince this apparently immortal, immensely powerful alien being, not for a second. Anne thinks he might believe in her the way that he doesn’t believe in gods or governments or, well, anything else, and that’s fucking terrifying.

But if there’s one thing Anne’s good at, it’s hiding fear. She puts her best game face on and gets her phone out.

“Mr. Belvedere is my cat,” she says decisively. “I’ll figure it out.”

 

Five minutes later, Eddie’s off in a Lyft and Anne looks around, thinking hard. The park is to the north and the street is to the south. She closes her eyes and thinks of Venom, trying to ignore her racing heartbeat.

Venom has memories, but their existence is at least a little altered by who they’re in, right? It’s the only explanation of why they didn’t carve out an indiscriminate trail of dead bodies after they first entered Eddie, like Riot did after they first entered Carlton Drake. She tries to conjure up that feeling, the overwhelming sensation of it, the panic of being completely unable to defend her own head, her own body. She tries to imagine what Venom’s side of that equation was.

Hunger, she decides. Honestly, beyond trying to save Eddie, the only thing she remembers from Venom is pure hunger. Not eating people, though, no. Not stupid enough for that kind of exposure, and besides, she’s chalking down its man-eating tendencies as a kind of cannibalistic instinct. There’s no other cats around to eat.

If she was Venom, cat-sized and ravenous, with a decent working memory, where would she go?

 

Two blocks down, along the edge of the park, the taco truck appears to have exploded its contents, with a hungry crowd milling around rubbernecking for good measure. There’s no police, for which Anne is grateful, but the two cooks frantically trying to clean up the sprawl of food and cooking utensils on the sidewalk are talking in rapid Spanish and she’s pretty sure the story of the mad cat will hit Twitter any second now. 

“What happened?” she asks one onlooker, a young man whose lanky height is absolutely swallowed in a massive sweatshirt. 

“This cat came out of fucking  _ nowhere _ ,” he says in a voice of awe. “Jumped up on the counter, tried to eat everything in sight. Then that guy—” He points at a cook. “—hit it with a broom, and it ran away.” 

“When was this?”

“Like five minutes ago? Ten, maybe?” 

Anne stifles her impatience with this imprecision. “Where’d it go?”

“Dunno.”

For fuck’s sake.

By now, most of the mess has been cleaned up, and one of the cooks is straight-up selling ceviche in little plastic cups, because apparently Venom didn’t have enough time to finish the meat before getting brained by a broom. There’s no way that any of this follows any health code regulations in any city under the sun, much less San Francisco’s, but people want their goddamn dinner. Anne makes her way to the front of the small crowd, ignoring protests and throwing a few hard elbows, and once she makes it within range of the cook, she shows a wad of cash, points at the ground where all the mess was, and yells, “¿A donde?”

Her Spanish is heavily accented and likely ungrammatical, but sufficient. The man points towards the park in a northwesterly direction, to which she says  _ gracias,  _ hands him all the money she has, and disappears back through the crowd. A hundred dollars is probably not enough to cover the loss of an evening’s dinner taco sales, but she’s in a bit of a fucking hurry. 

Anne breaks into a run. With every passing minute, Venom could be getting farther away. And she promised.  _ She promised. _

 

 

 

 

 

Despite his intense medical training, Dan firmly believes in tea as a panacea, and this particularly strange night seems to be bearing out that belief. Just now, ginger tea has managed to stop Eddie from looking entirely miserable and muttering to himself. Now he’s tucked into a blanket, head patched, on the sofa and drinking copious quantities. Eddie was adamant that Anne not be disturbed in whatever job she was doing, but Dan feels like a few of the things Eddie muttered definitely give him grounds for a quick phone call. So.

“Anne Weying speaking.” The voice on the other end is cool and crisp, but the breathing is oddly fast, like she’s trying not to pant too loudly.

“Babe, are you all right?” Dan tries to whisper, hoping that Eddie won’t notice. So far, he’s successful. 

“I’m fine. How’s Eddie?” All business, as he should have expected.

If she’s on the hunt, she’ll want the facts only. Dan tries to keep it simple, although there’s definitely a significant portion of his brain yelling,  _ please tell me if the aliens are back and we’re all going to die.  _

“He has a concussion and he might need stitches. We should probably take him in for a couple tests, but nothing major. I got him an appointment for today, so we should leave in half an hour, but he’s pretty adamant he doesn’t want to go to the hospital.” (By  _ pretty adamant _ , Dan means that Eddie had all but shouted  _ No! _ and Dan does not do well with people shouting at him.)

“Good, do it. Thanks, bye.” 

Dan catches her just as she’s about to hang up. “Wait. He’s saying some stuff about Venom?”

“It’s a long story, I’m sorry. I’m going to fix it. Just take care of him, please. For me.”

“Of course,” Dan says, and she’s just about to hang up again when he adds, “Be safe, all right?” 

There’s a moment’s hesitation there, just a flicker, a pause so brief that only someone who knows Anne’s usual swift confidence would notice it. But Dan notices.

“I promise,” she says, and then she hangs up.

When he puts the phone down, he finds Eddie staring blearily at him. He puts on his best brisk, warm doctor’s smile. 

“You want some more tea, buddy?”

“Sure,” Eddie mumbles, and then, when Dan’s got a fresh mugful for each of them and they’re both sitting on the sofa, he adds, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” And Eddie looks so miserable that Dan doesn’t even need Anne’s urging, the words just come naturally. “How are you feeling?”

Eddie scratches his chin halfheartedly. “Oh, I’m all right, yeah.”

“Really?” 

“...No.”

Dan lets that one sit there for a second before he follows up: “How about now?”

“Hm?” Eddie looks at him in confusion, and that’s when Dan goes for it.

“How does it feel, Eddie?” Dan says, and he wants to know, truly. He knows in painful and particular detail how bad it can be not to talk about things, and listening is the least he can do for the man that saved all their asses.

“Um.” Eddie swallows hard. He looks like he’s shrinking away from Dan, but not like Dan’s gonna hurt him, more like Eddie can’t take being looked at with any kind of gentleness. “Bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Really fucking bad?” Eddie says it like a question.

“How come?”

Eddie shakes his head, looks away. “I just feel like...like I’m empty, you know? And, ah. Feel like it’s all downhill from here.”

“I know,” says Dan softly, because that does sound familiar.

It’s like those two words broke a dam, and suddenly Eddie’s talking fast, gaining speed so the words trip over each other. 

“I had this one chance, right? Like one last chance, and I was just—I just found it. I mean I just worked it all out, and I was gonna do okay again, I thought I was, and then I fucked up—barely fucked up, and that’s not usual for me, usually I fuck up all the way, but this one thing, this one small thing, and I—know I’m alone again. And it’s not the same kind as before. Cause I know now what I’m missing. I thought I was done with feeling like this, and I guess I’m never done, and I’m scared. I’m fucking scared. My head aches like I got hit with a hammer, my body feels wrong, and it’s crazy how much I already miss—” Eddie takes a massive breath, and Dan can’t tell if he needs the air or the pause or both. “Yeah.” Eddie wipes his nose with his sleeve, doesn’t look up. “I’d say bad. I feel bad. That covers it.”

Even taking away all the words, the vulnerability in Eddie’s voice could tear anyone apart, and Dan hears every word. For a moment, he can’t form the words to reply. It’s like Eddie has reached into his worst sleepless nights of the past month and scooped out a handful of cold sweat.

He puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and forces his throat to work. “I hear you,” he says, and the words are weak but his voice is not. 

Eddie looks up, incredulous. Something in Dan’s face must be convincing, because he says “Yeah?” too softly to be challenging.

Dan nods, and suddenly Eddie’s hugging Dan and Dan hugs him back, hard, ignoring the smelly, bloodstained hoodie. Eddie kind of turtles down and burrows into the blanket, into Dan’s arms, and Dan’s throat gets tight at the way Eddie has stopped trying to hide his crying.

“Anne will fix it,” Dan says. “She always does.”

Dan’s not sure, but he thinks Eddie nods.

 

 

 

 

 

The dog park seemed like a decent shot, but Anne didn’t anticipate the sheer swell of people. The swarm of dogs borders a public square, which houses the usual commuters passing through, a few homeless people, two soapboxers yelling on megaphones, so that the place is a swirl of color and bodies and indiscriminate yelling about hell and veganism.

It has to be here. Has to be. She’d passed two people that saw Mr. Belvedere running fast towards the dog park, and there’s food at the base of all this logic, right, and Anne tries to catch her breath, hands behind her head, sweating her ass off in that leather jacket.

Someone grabs her by the arm. 

“Excuse me!” that someone says, which is lucky for them, because Anne was just about to tell them to fuck off.

She turns to see an anxious-looking couple of men. “You haven’t happened to see our dog anywhere?”

“It’s a dog park.”

“Yeah, but—he’s not there.” And the shorter man looks so distressed that Anne holds her tongue for a full second, which he takes as invitation to go on. “He’s, like, really big? I wouldn’t be able to miss him, usually. Big grey motherfucker. Named Fido.”

“Ironically,” says the other man.

“Ironically named Fido. And he always comes when Calvin whistles. Calvin—”

The tall one whistles. “See?” he says to Anne, who has stopped listening to them, but who does in fact see something relevant.

“What color was its collar?” she demands.

“His collar,” says the short one reprovingly.

“Was it red?”

“Yes.”

There’s a scrap of red fabric being carried by the wind along the far path on the other side of the dog park. With a little bronze ring and doggy name tag attached.

The short man has started talking again, but Anne drowns him out entirely. This is the last traceable food source she knows. She won’t be able to get another lucky guess. It’s now or never, and she has no idea how to find Venom.

Unless Venom comes to her?

Anne sprints across the dog park, vaults over the low fence, and barrels right into one of the soapboxers, interrupting him mid-shout.

“Hi, I need this,” she says, reaching for the megaphone.

At the exact same time, he shrinks back from her and gets out a few more words, which, unfortunately for him, were more on the subject of Hell, and not the kind that would endear him to Anne at all.

She snatches the megaphone away with one hand, shoves him off the soapbox with the other, jumps up, and yells. 

The ensuing screech of feedback makes everyone around cringe and go silent.

“EDDIE NEEDS YOU,” she screams. “RIGHT NOW. YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

After a second, people resume whatever they were doing, as if she’d just pressed pause for a second on the world. The commuters go on walking, the dog people go on talking amongst themselves and yelling at their dogs, and the vegan soapboxer starts in on a rant about egg-laying hens.

Anne could cry. She doesn’t. She stands on that stupid soapbox and squints against the sunset and keeps looking, as hard as she can.

“Give that back,” says the Hell Soapboxer.

“Get fucked.”

He tries to yank the megaphone away, and she elbows him in the chest, not too lightly.

“You can’t do that,” he wheezes, but Anne’s smiling, now, because along the top of the chain-link fence, delicate, tail held high, is something that looks like Mr. Belvedere. 

“You asshole,” she murmurs fondly. 

Hell Soapboxer mutters something about the police, and she throws the megaphone over her shoulder at him, jumps down, and walks towards the cat-shaped thing. 

They meet in the middle of the square, and she squats down to talk. It’s odd, hearing that voice coming from the cat, pitched rather high and pronunciation all wrong, but close enough to English that she understands.

**Where is he? Why does he need me?**

“Back at the apartment. And he always needs you.”

Venom huffs in disgust.  **You—**

It tries to walk away. Anne reaches out and yanks at its collar. In return, a little tentacle of black slips out of the cat’s neck and tightens around her wrist, hard.

**You cannot keep us,** Venom snarls, and at that, Anne relaxes, because this is her job. This is her fucking job.

“I wasn’t finished,” she says calmly. “Did you want me to finish? Did you want to hear how he’s doing?”

Venom hesitates.  **I saw he hit his head.**

“He bled a lot,” Anne lies. “Soaked his scarf clean through, and Dan says he has a terrible concussion, and he’s so dizzy half the time he can’t stand up.”

**Why have you not taken him to a hospital?**

“He insists that the hospital is too far away. Says he’s sure you’re going to come and fix him. So come on, don’t disappoint.” Anne tries to get up, but the tentacle tightens.

**Dan is a good doctor, and he can help Eddie recover. You can both help him recover.**

“Or you can fix it in mere seconds.” Anne’s eyes narrow. “Why not do that? If you can stop him hurting for even a second, why wouldn’t you fucking do it?”

Venom stays silent for a second, and then says,  **He survived without me before. He will do it again.**

Anne is merciless. “No, he didn’t. He lived with me. He barely survived after me, and then you came along. He’s not going to do well without you. He’s not good at being alone.”

**Then you take him.**

“Human rules. I’m not sure I can.”

**That is stupid.**

“Right back at you.”

**Why did you leave him, then? If you know he was barely surviving after you.**

“I’m not obligated to stay with a man just to save him.”

**And I am?**

Anne wants to rub her face with her hands, but again—tentacle. Instead, she sighs. For a nonstop hungry alien that gave her the first impression of a toddler crossed with a mass murderer, Venom is a surprisingly astute, precise adversary.

“He hurt me,” she finally says. “Or at least he did something he knew would very likely hurt me, and he chose to do it anyways, because he’s got a self-righteous streak a mile deep and maybe he didn’t care enough at the time.”

**He was very sorry, after.**

“Yeah, well.” Anne finds her way back to her original argument, and picks it up with a vengeance, words hard and mixed with a generous helping of lies. “He didn’t hurt you, ever. As far as I know, he’s never been anything but good to you.” She picks up steam. “And in return, you’re leaving him bleeding on my sofa with a horrible head injury, miserable, going through something like withdrawal, shivering and everything, and you’re the only thing that can fix him, and you’re going to just walk away? In my fucking cat?”

Anne crouches down real low, till they’re face-to-face. She can smell the blood and meat from the dog Venom just ate, and she can tell there are a couple people staring. She doesn’t care.

Slowly and very quietly, she says: “I have never let Eddie down in my life before, and I don’t intend to start now, so if you really are going to walk away,  _ you’d better fucking eat me first.” _

Those cat eyes flicker for a second with an odd, cloudlike glaze. Anne stares into them with her steeliest death glare and tries not to let on that she’s holding her breath. It feels like whole minutes are passing.

Then the tentacle withdraws. Venom meows.

“Right.” Suppressing a sigh of relief, Anne scoops up the cat-creature in one arm, and starts walking back to her motorcycle. “I’d knew you’d come around,” she lies. 

 

 

 

 

 

Dan has always liked Eddie. He likes the way the guy seems put-together and sharp as hell on television, but then a complete mess in real life. Likes his show, flash on the outside and nerd at the core. Likes the way he makes Dan feel, like beyond the weirdness there’s a decent man there, dependably well-intentioned. And, hell, anyone that gets dumped by Anne Weying and still retains her affection and respect? That’s someone to look out for.

He likes Eddie now more than ever, because right now Eddie’s wiping his teary face with his own sleeves without apology. Dan was expecting him to recoil, a little, once he was done crying, expected the other man to throw up defenses and pretend nothing had happened, but turns out Eddie’s more honest than that. He offers Dan a half-smile, as if to say:  _ hey. _

Before Dan can answer, Eddie’s phone rings. Eddie picks it up.

“Hey, yeah. It’s me,” he says. Then his face darkens. “When? Oh.” He rubs his face with his spare hand. “Well, shit. Guess there’s nothing you can do about it right now. I’m over at a friend’s, so I’ll be fine for the night. Thanks for letting me know. See you tomorrow, I guess.” Then he hangs up.

“Anne?” Dan says, even though he knows it’s probably not.

“Apparently some burglar tore through my apartment, and seven others in the building. Best of luck to them. I think the most valuable thing there is my new mattress. Not sure how they’d steal that.”

Dan tsks sympathetically. “It’s just not your day, is it.”

Eddie half-smiles again. “No, it is not.”

“Some more tea?” Dan says.

“Sure.” Eddie gets up off the sofa like an old man, weary and pained in a way that makes Dan watch him carefully. He catches Dan watching. “I can get it myself,” he says. “I’m not an invalid.”

“Technically speaking, you are.” But Dan lets him go.

Or at least Dan lets him get halfway across the kitchen before Dan realizes what’s about to happen, jumps to his feet, and scrambles over. 

“Wait,” he says, trying to insert himself between Eddie and the countertop, “The kettle’s finicky.”

“I know,” Eddie says. “I got it at Goodwill for fifteen bucks like three years ago. But all you have to do is jiggle the handle to the left a bit when you’re trying to get water out of the spigot.” 

Eddie moves forward, but Dan doesn’t have a head injury, so he’s quick enough to stop him.

“You’re my guest,” he gabbles. “Why don’t you just go sit down and rest your head?”

Eddie looks at the man in front of him. Then he looks over his shoulder. 

“Dan,” he says, “It’s fine.”

Dan is very sure that it’s not actually fine.

“I’m pretty well-acquainted with that myself,” Eddie says.

“Mm?”

Eddie gestures. “The strapon.”

Sure enough, Anne’s blue rubber strapon is hanging up to dry on one of the pegs they’d usually use to hang mugs from the wall. The dishrack was full, and where else were they gonna hang it? 

Dan full-on blushes in a way he physically feels, all down his neck, too. Can’t help it. “Right,” he mumbles. “That.”

“That,” Eddie agrees, and for a long moment, it’s just him, staring at Dan awkwardly, Dan staring back.

They both burst into laughter. Real, big, ridiculous laughter, and for a moment, Dan can feel the stress of the night, maybe even some of the stress of the month, dissolving and washing away. 

Eddie roars and howls like a bear when he laughs, grabs the countertop like he needs the support, eyes lit up, crows-feet deepening, and Dan has to physically lean away just a little because it’s all so much, even just laughing, it’s all so much because he sees what Anne must have seen, now, and oh Jesus Christ. 

“Your face,” Eddie gasps.

“I know!”

Just then, the front door opens, and in steps Anne, motorcycle helmet under one arm and cat in the other. 

Eddie freezes mid-laugh. “Is that—”

With a snarl, the cat leaps down from Anne and runs right out the door. 

“Wait—” Anne whips around and starts to run. Dan can hear her yelling, “I can explain!” but then she’s back within a minute, looking drained and defeated.

Eddie looks even worse. “Annie,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I nearly had them. I had to run, and lie, and fucking elbow a preacher in the face, but I just—fuck. I had to tell them you were in grave danger, and then I walked in on you laughing your head off. I should’ve had a better lie. I should’ve fucking coordinated with you on it.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs.

“I’m—” Anne’s voice catches, and that’s what spurs Dan into action, even though he clearly has no idea what the fuck is going on. 

“Babe,” he says, moving towards her, “it’s okay. We can put up flyers.” He puts his arms around her and says into her hair, “Lost pets happen all the time, you know, and it always turns out fine. I bet there’s even an app for it.”

“It’s my fault,” she says into his neck, and then pushes him away gently, looking over his shoulder. “Eddie, I think it’s time we went to the hospital, then. Get you those stitches and tests and everything else.”

“I can take him,” Dan says.

“No, I’ve got it,” she replies, and though her voice is soft, he knows better than to argue by the way she’s looking at Eddie, like she’s just run him over accidentally and now she’s surveying the wreckage. “I’ll see if Doctor Kowalski or Govindrajan can fit him in. Come on, I’ll get us a Lyft.”

Eddie merely nods, looking worse than ever, and follows her out the door. 

Left alone in the apartment with a massive roast, Dan still has very little idea what’s happening, but he knows that Eddie will probably be sleeping on the couch that night and he likes having concrete work to do when things get confusing and terrifying, as they are now. He goes upstairs to get some sheets and blankets, and when he comes back down with his arms full, he finds the front door unlocked and open, and a very familiar curled up on his favorite cushion, looking for all the world as if it had never left.

“Mr. Belvedere!” 

Dropping everything, Dan goes to the cat and begins to pet it the way it likes, in long slow strokes from head to tail. It begins to purr.

“You have no idea how happy Anne will be to see you’re back,” he says, reaching for his phone on the coffee table. “Things have been pretty wild around—”

Something shiny and black and powerful yanks the phone out of his hand and throws it over the back of the couch.

**We should talk,** Venom says.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: Anne & Eddie find some shadiness at the hospital, while Dan & Venom find they have more in common than they think


End file.
